Men Have Forgotten This Truth
by Sigridhr
Summary: Loki is on a mission to rid himself of the connection Darcy has left on his mind. Darcy is dragged, unwittingly, along for the ride. Naturally, things don't go quite according to plan. Sequel to Galatea.
1. We're Off to See the Elf-Witch

**Warnings:** no major warnings apply.

**Notes**: A huge thank you to amidtheflowers, for being a sounding board, beta and always supportive friend. You have her to thank for this fic getting off the ground.

* * *

Les hommes ont oublié cette vérité, dit le renard. Mais tu ne dois pas l'oublier. Tu deviens responsable pour toujours de ce que tu as apprivoisé.  
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."

- Le Petit Prince, Antoine de Saint Exupéry

**Part I: Jason**

**Chapter One: We're Off To See The Elf-Witch...**

The really irritating thing about the world was that it didn't grind to a halt just because a trans-dimensional madman had attempted to end it. The Helicarrier was in for serious repairs (although Tony Stark's surprising – and no doubt _temporary_ – assistance had cut the repair time in half), SHIELD HQ was now a great sinkhole that looked a bit as if someone had attempted to open a portal to Hell, and Stark Tower was being rebuilt – and yet, _still_ Natasha was gathering reconnaissance on underground Russian weapons trading.

Fieldwork would have been much simpler and much more efficient, but SHIELD's infrastructure was somewhat in shambles. After Thanos' attack, and her own role in supporting Darcy, Fury had grounded her. Natasha suspected that her strong advocacy on behalf of Darcy Lewis was at least partially to blame, but she wasn't about to bring it up if Fury didn't. Instead she poured over surveillance tapes, making occasional notes on the transcript where there were errors, allowing her mind to slip back into its native language.

There was an odd numbness that came from speaking Russian. Like everything she'd become since could be stripped from her like a second skin. She hated working in Russia, but loved the catharsis of returning home from it again. But there was a familiarity in the violence of it – at least in the work that she did there – where her skills, practical and deadly, cut through them like tissue paper. She had been made a weapon there, and was now turned back upon it.

The sharp buzz of the intercom caused her to yank the headphones down and shut off the surveillance tape.

She picked up the phone. "Yes?"

"We have a breach," said Fury sharply. "Main lab. Someone is accessing the computer."

"There's no one on the footage," said Natasha, scanning the security camera feed.

"No, but there's definitely a breach – and not an elegant one. Seems to be a frontal assault on the computer system rather than trying to sneak in the back door. Tech Analysts say it's definitely from that computer terminal, though. Check it out – Barton will meet you there."

Natasha hung up the phone and pulled out her gun. Clint was waiting for her in the hall when she arrived at the lab door. He gestured that she should go in first, and he'd provide cover.

Leaning back against the wall and peering through the small window in the lab door, she nodded. Then, she spun round and gave it a solid kick, slamming the door against the wall as it swung open and slipping into the room, sweeping it with her gun at the ready.

"Nothing," said Clint, following her into the room as he peered around. "There's nothing here."

Natasha was still looking around the room, frowning.

"The computer's on," Clint said, stepping past her. Natasha threw out an arm and stopped him in his tracks, still keeping her gun trained on the empty space in front of the computer screen.

"The keys," she said. She felt Clint go rigid in surprise as he spotted it, and he brushed her hand aside and raised his bow.

The keyboard was typing, apparently of its own accord. The keys were oddly silent, and it seemed as it whoever was using the keyboard was scrolling through something, hitting the arrow keys in slow intervals.

They'd worked together long enough to make sound guesses about how the other thought, so a quick glance was more than enough to assure Natasha that Clint was heading around the room to try and cover whatever was happening to the computer from the far side. Natasha stepped forwards, and, with a quick flick of her wrist, released a tear gas pellet and discharged it at what she guessed would be eye-height for someone reading the computer screen.

Loki stumbled back from the monitor with a curse, rubbing at his eyes as he flickered into view. Natasha levelled her gun at his forehead.

"Loki," she said, flatly.

"I had hoped to avoid this," Loki replied, glibly. "I did rather like you when last we met – for a Midgardian, that is."

"Shut it," snapped Clint from behind him.

"Ah!" Loki said, half-turning to look at Clint, his mouth turning up in a deliberately provocative smirk. "Agent _Barton_. I wouldn't bother." He gave a cynical look to Clint's bow. "We both know what you're capable of."

"Yeah we do," Clint replied. "So when I _promise_ to shoot you in the head, you _know_ I'm going to follow through."

Loki rolled his eyes and turned back to Natasha. "Do call off your _bird_," he said. "I'm not here to argue."

"What are you here for?" Natasha asked, levelly.

"_Tash_," said Clint, warningly.

"Hush," Loki said, bitingly. "The adults are speaking."

Clint visibly bristled.

"I have no compunctions whatsoever about allowing him to shoot you," Natasha warned. "You came here for information – what were you looking for?"

Loki spread his hands with a wry grin. "When I was given the benefit of your _hospitality_, I undertook considerable work on studying the Tesseract. I am simply retrieving my research."

"And we are retrieving _you_ and putting you back in the cell where you belong," Clint said, stepping forwards.

Loki flashed Natasha an exasperated look.

She caught on to what he was about to do just in time. She flung out one of her widow's lines from her wrist just as Loki stretched out his arm towards the computer, his hand glowing green with magical energy. It wrapped around his wrist and she pulled it tight, tugging him towards her. Loki laughed, and wrapped his hand around the line, pulling her towards him and spinner her around, wrapping the line across her chest to pin her against him. She moved with the momentum, using his arm as leverage to bring her legs up over his head and slip out under the wire, sending them both toppling to the ground.

Loki delivered a swift kick to her face that blinded her for a second and he rolled away, abruptly flickering out of existence. Clint's arrow embedded with a solid thwack into the spot on the floor on which he'd just been lying.

"You alright?" Clint asked, offering her a hand. She grabbed his arm and dragged herself to her feet, her head still spinning.

"Gimme a sec," she said. "Check the computer. See what he was looking at."

Clint gave her a once-over, but seemed satisfied to leave her leaning against the lab bench. He scrolled through the data on the screen. "He really was looking at the readings we collected for the Tesseract, and Thanos' sceptre."

Natasha made a noncommittal noise, wiping blood from her nose.

"He made a copy," Clint said, grimly. "I'd say he got whatever he came for."

"Wonderful," Natasha grumbled.

"So," Clint said, leaning his hip against the lab bench and crossing his arms. "Do you want to tell Fury, or shall I?"

* * *

Darcy dropped her keys on the top of the kitchen counter and took her shoes off, chucking them across the room with a satisfying thunk as she flopped backwards onto her couch and revelled in the feeling of cool air on her aching feet. She stripped her socks off too, feeling equal parts gross and tired.

She was internally debating whether she was more hungry than lazy when there was a knock at the door. With a groan as she stood, her heels sore and protesting her current state of being unforgivably upright, she shuffled to the door and opened it. Natasha was standing on the other side, in jeans and a leather jacket, looking bizarrely out of place in her hallway.

For a very brief moment, Darcy considered slamming the door in her face. Instead manners took over, and she stepped aside. "Come on in."

Natasha flashed her a tight smile and strode into the apartment, looking around the room as she did so.

"Can I, uh, get you anything?" Darcy asked awkwardly. "There's water, tea and probably some juice somewhere in the fridge if you'd like."

"No, thank you," Natasha replied. She leant up against the island counter in the kitchen, looking Darcy over. Darcy sat on the counter on the far side of the room and leant against the fridge.

"So, what can I do for you then?"

"Loki broke into SHIELD headquarters this morning," said Natasha, without preamble. Darcy felt her heart skip a beat at the mention of Loki's name, and she sat up straight.

"Loki?" she echoed. "What did he want?"

"Information," Natasha replied. "Fury asked me to speak to you."

Darcy frowned. "Speak to –" She stopped, and then looked straight at Natasha, scowling. "You think _I_ had something to do with this?"

"Did you?"

"No," Darcy ground out. "_Why_ would I possibly have anything to do with Loki?"

Natasha's face was carefully blank, but she leant forwards on her elbows and watched Darcy's face carefully. "Your apartment is under surveillance," she said. Darcy let out an unintelligible squawk of protest at that, but Natasha simply raised an eyebrow and carried on. "We are aware that Loki has visited you here at least once."

"You _knew_?" Darcy asked, incredulously.

"Why didn't you report it?"

"I didn't think it was any of your business," Darcy said, scowling.

Natasha's lips turned down at the corners. "You do realise that this is _precisely_ the reason why SHIELD is questioning you in relation to Loki's activities? Loki _is_ our business, Darcy. It's a question of planetary security."

"I have no idea what Loki's up to," Darcy replied, firmly, crossing her arms. "He came here, apparently, to try and kill me. And when he decided he couldn't, he prattled on about how we had 'unfinished business'."

Natasha stood up straight, looking incredulous. "You consider that 'not our business'?"

"Well apparently you knew."

"We knew he'd been _here_," Natasha said. "SHIELD can move you to a more secure facility, and we can increase your protection –"

Darcy slid off the counter. "I don't want protection," she said.

"This isn't a game," Natasha said, sharply.

Darcy sighed. "I realise that this may be difficult for you to understand. It's hard for _me_ to wrap my head around at times. But I _can't_ spend the rest of my life hiding in a 'secure facility'. Loki has given me the impression that I'm safe from him for now – he's said he _can't_ kill me, and Thanos is gone, and, well, that's good enough for me for now."

"Can't kill you?" Natasha echoed. "Why?"

"I left some kind of imprint on him when I mind controlled him. He was a bit hazy on the details."

Natasha shifted her weight and crossed her arms. "I am formally recommending you accept protection from SHIELD," she said.

"I'm formally declining," Darcy replied. "And you can stop the goon squad watching my house, too."

"That one isn't up to you," Natasha said, wryly. "And I expect a full report if you should meet Loki again." Darcy scowled, and Natasha gave her a hard look. "I _will_ be checking in."

"He's not coming back here," Darcy replied, pulling out a mug and flicking the kettle on. "I have no idea what he's up to, but I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with me. With the sceptre gone, I'm pretty worthless to him."

"Full report," Natasha repeated, pointedly. "I'll see myself out."

"Bye," Darcy muttered darkly. Natasha shut the door behind her loudly as she left, and Darcy leant against the kitchen counter, sliding down it to the floor and dropping her head to rest on her knees as she hugged them to her chest. The kettle turned itself off with a loud click.

* * *

Walking unseen always made Loki feel curiously empty, as if doing it for too long a time would cause him to simply fade away entirely. It was, however, a temporary but necessary evil. He preferred his presence to remain unnoticed here, uncertain as he was of how much news had passed from Asgard to Álfheim about his doings.

The library spanned the length of the great hall, its vaulted, stonework roof stretching up like a great cavern above him. The space echoed, making every movement unnaturally loud, as if breaking the ponderous, reverent silence of the books themselves. Loki considered it, frankly, a bit much – but he wasn't one to talk. Odin's Hall of Records was even grander, in keeping with the style of his house.

Loki found himself at something of a loss as to where to start. The precise make and nature of the magic of the sceptre was still somewhat unknown, even with the information he'd recovered from SHIELD.

The darkest books in Álfheim's records were kept locked away. Loki made quick work off the door, passing through the wards like vapour. He ran his hands along the shelves, checking each of the codices in turn, skimming the titles (where there were titles) and piling them upon the table if they looked likely.

Research was slow going, as it always was. Magical knowledge was, as a general rule, transferred orally rather than kept in records, but the scribes of Álfheim had an unusual inclination towards meticulous documentation. And, apparently, illustrating in elaborate and occasionally alarming detail the results of each spell in the margins. There were occasional practice notes scrawled in a separate hand as well, advising drolly that a particular method be 'best not attempted outside the waxing moon as it results in unusually persistent and painful boils'.

Still, the more he read the more apparent it became that answers were not likely to be found without help. Even the dark elves, it appeared, had not attempted anything so dark as the possession of another. If knowledge of the magic Thanos had used existed, it existed solely in the minds of practitioners.

Accordingly, Loki shut the codex with a mildewy thud, and decided to find a practitioner. However he stopped short suddenly as he felt the unmistakable sensation of a blade pressing against his throat.

"I know you are there, spirit. Show yourself."

Slowly, Loki dropped the veil which hid him from sight. "Fróði," he said, turning towards his attacker. "I was just looking for someone skilled in the art of magic. You've saved me the trouble of seeking you out."

Fróði of Álfheim was tall and fair-haired like all the light elves. But he was canny, and had a perpetual stooped look about him that came from devoting his time to shelving books. None of that was on his face now – he looked more guarded and wary than Loki had ever seen him, and he was gripping Loki so tightly he could feel the imprint of his fingers on his arm even through the leather of his jerkin, the blade pressed tight against his throat and pinning him to the table.

For a moment he did not move, and Loki wondered whether word of his attempted conquest of Midgard had reached Álfheim after all, but after a long beat he withdrew the blade and stepped back.

"Loki," said Fróði at last. "I had heard you were lost."

"Evidently not," Loki said, drily.

"Why have you come skulking down here unseen?"

"I require information," Loki replied, "on this." He pulled the notes he'd gathered on the sceptre across the table, placing them in front of Fróði. He took them, looking between Loki and the notes, his brow furrowed.

"This is dark magic," he said, grimly.

"I am aware of that," Loki replied, pressing his lips together primly. "I want to know what _you_ know about it."

"I know it has not yet been attempted. To do so would require the creator to pour too much of themselves into the craft."

"It has been done," Loki corrected. "And destroyed."

Fróði raised an eyebrow, and then rubbed his temples with one hand. "Please," he said in a long-suffering tone. "Tell me you did not attempt this."

Loki scowled. "Do I _look_ like an idiot?"

Fróði pressed his lips together and very loudly said nothing.

"I was sufficiently unfortunate to be on the receiving end," Loki admitted, grudgingly. "It has left some... unpleasant after effects. I am seeking to remedy them."

"You won't find it in these," Fróði said, still looking troubled. "This is beyond my skill and experience. But not, perhaps, beyond the knowledge of Hulda. She sometimes walks the paths between the worlds." He passed the papers back to Loki, who grimaced.

"Is there no one else?"

"It may be beyond even her." Fróði threw up his hands in frustration. "My advice, if you want it, is to take better care to not be on the receiving end of such dark magic in future."

"Your opinions are both unwelcome and unhelpful," said Loki, scowling. "And _late_."

"Nevertheless," Fróði drawled. "It is sound advice."

"Where can I find Hulda?" Loki asked.

"In her cave, I expect," Fróði said nonchalantly. "A word of warning: she rather expects a quid-pro-quo for services rendered."

Loki grimaced at that. "Charming. How precisely does one go about picking out a gift for an Elf-Witch?"

Fróði grinned. "Very carefully."

* * *

Loki was standing in the middle of Darcy's kitchen when she walked in the front door that evening. She stopped, wearing only one shoe (having already kicked the other one off) and with her coat half on, staring.

"Ah," said Loki, putting down the mug he'd been turning over in his hand. "You're late."

"Late for _what_?" Darcy asked incredulously.

"We have an errand to run," Loki said, coming around the kitchen island towards her. "It shouldn't take long." He grabbed her coat and wrestled her other arm back into it, adjusting the collar as he did so.

"Wait, what?" Darcy said, squirming out his grip. "Errand? Are you _insane_?"

"Not presently," Loki said. "But if we stand around here prattling much longer I fear I might be."

"No," Darcy said, stepping backwards and stumbling as she ran into the couch. "Whatever this is, I'm not taking part in it. There is _no way_ I am going anywhere with you. Ever."

Loki let out a low growl of frustration."We do not have _time_ to argue."

"We're not arguing. This is just you being wrong," Darcy said. "Now get out, before I call SHIELD."

Loki stiffened at that, and something shifted in him. His body language took on a predatory edge, like his hackles were raised, and Darcy felt suddenly nervous. The tables had turned, and while Loki had _said_ he couldn't kill her (and she considered his very convincing and very terrifying attempt to do so as proof), the balance of power was still firmly in his favour now that the sceptre was gone.

"I see you have retreated to the bosom of Earth's _Mightiest_ Heroes," Loki drawled sardonically.

"I haven't retreated to the bosom of anything," Darcy said. "I just want you to leave."

There was something sharp about the way Loki moved, in the curve of his mouth and the glint of his eyes. He stepped forward, well into her personal space. "Ah, but you forget," he said, dropping his voice to a low purr. "I know your mind perhaps better than you know yourself. There is nothing for you here. Nothing that stirs your interest. You walk alone in the world, the taste of power still on your lips that lends a bitter tinge to the monotony of your dreary world."

Darcy swallowed, and Loki leant in further, close enough that she could feel his breath on her face. "I could give it _back_ to you."

"What do you want?" she asked, hollowly.

He stepped back, smirking in triumph. "To be rid of you, and you of me."

She clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms to try and slow her racing heart and force her mind to focus. "And what, precisely, does that entail?"

"Leaving," Loki said, rolling his eyes. "Now."

"Not until you _tell me_."

"Why do I even bother?" Loki muttered under his breath. "This is not a negotiation." And with that he stepped forward and grabbed hold of her arm, hard enough that it hurt, and yanked her forwards into his chest, wrapping his other arm around her shoulders and pinning her in place.

And then she was bodiless, torn apart and squeezed through an impossibly tiny point, travelling too fast to reckon, and seemingly not moving at all at. And then the ground seemed to rush up underneath her feet and she touched back down, leaning on Loki and trying hard not to be sick all over his clothes. "What the hell. What the actual bloody hell was that?"

"Cease gibbering," Loki snapped.

She revised her plan of not being sick on Loki. It would serve him right if she puked all over him.

"Where are we?" she said, her voice sounding odd to her own ears. Her limbs felt strangely discombobulated, like the weren't her own, and when she tried to walk it took a few tries to get her legs to respond properly. "What did you just _do_ to me?"

"That was what it feels like to walk between the worlds," Loki said, absently. "We are in Álfheim."

"What the hell is Álfheim?"

He gave her a look like he couldn't quite believe she'd said something so apparently dim-witted. "Come," he said, and when she clung to him and just sort of wobbled precariously, he rolled his eyes and half-dragged her along until she got her feet under her again.

"Stop, stop a minute," she said. "I'm gonna be sick."

Loki muttered something that sounded like "Oh, good _grief_" and shook her off his arm. "Over there," he said, gesturing away from him.

She half-crawled away from him, sitting down and pressing her forehead to her knees, trying to make the world stop spinning. The feeling of being detached, like she didn't belong in her own skin was gradually going away. But there was still the small matter that she had been kidnapped and dropped on _another planet_ to contend with. This was actual _alien_ soil.

She almost laughed. It was that or cry, really.

"In your own time," Loki said, sarcastically.

"You could have _warned_ me," she said, her voice muffled against the fabric of her jeans.

"I was unaware you were so tremendously frail," he replied. "If you're quite finished." He stepped towards her with the clear intention of hauling her to her feet.

"Touch me and I will be sick on you," Darcy said. Loki made a low noise of frustration, but his hand stopped in mid air, hovering an inch above her shoulder. His fingers closed in a fist, and he took a step back.

"I'm not getting up until you tell me where we're going," Darcy said, obstinately.

"We're going on a... consult," Loki said, evasively. "In order to remove the unfortunate bond between us."

"Consult?"

Loki ran a hand through his hair impatiently. "A consult for which we are going to be _late_."

She looked up at him, and then carefully – if a bit shakily – got to her feet. "Right, lead on, then."

"Excellent," Loki snapped. "We just have to make a quick stop on the way."

"Stop?" Darcy said aloud, as she trudged along behind him.

"For a gift," Loki said. "Best not come empty handed."

"Turn up where?" Darcy asked.

"A seiðkona," Loki replied, and, when Darcy looked blankly at him he gave her an annoyed glare and said, "a _witch_."

"What, seriously?" Darcy said with a snort.

"How else do you intend to break a magically induced curse?" Loki asked, pointedly.

"Okay, fair enough. So, uh, what are we bringing her?"

Loki looked thoughtful. "You know, I haven't decided."

"Right," Darcy said. "And, what happens if you turn up without something?"

"As far as I'm aware, the last one to do so was beheaded," he said. "So, in your case it should make very little difference."

Darcy stopped in her tracks. "_Beheaded_? Did you just say _beheaded_?"

Loki rolled his eyes and carried on. "Do keep up."

Not for the first time, Darcy wondered precisely how she'd managed to get so far in over her head yet again.


	2. Agreements and Negotiations

**Notes:**

A huge thank you to amidtheflowers for her badass beta skills, and wicked cheerleading.

I'm really, really sorry that this is so late. I realise it's been a while since this updated, and all I can do is thank you for sticking by it. So, thank you.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Agreements and Negotiations**

"Couldn't you have teleported us any _closer_?"

Loki, with the longsuffering air of someone who was one elongated, whiny syllable away from committing a brutal axe-murder, ignored Darcy. Just as he had ignored everything she'd said since they'd begun trudging along the road – and this was meant in the absolute _loosest_ sense of the word – towards a possibly homicidal witch.

They had been making their way through a forest, following a winding, sparse path that led them deeper into the trees. The branches arched over Darcy's head oppressively, forming a corridor over the path. They rustled eerily, overly-loud in the thick muffled stillness of the forest.

"This place gives me the creeps," she muttered.

Loki glanced back and scowled. Then, he stopped in his tracks and looked around, frowning.

"Oh, _please_ tell me we aren't lost."

"We aren't lost," Loki echoed back duly, still looking around with a furrowed brow. "Not yet, anyway."

"Oh, _good_," Darcy muttered under her breath. "That'll make the time just _fly_ by. We can decide who is going to eat whom when our absolute lack of provisions run out."

Loki gave her look that was mixed annoyance and utter disgust, and then stepped out into the trees, almost vanishing into the darkness off the path.

"Whoa, wait!" Darcy said, crashing through the underbrush after him. She ran smack into his back with an audible thump. He caught her around the waist, holding her in place against his back. He stood very still, his head cocked as if he were straining to hear something. Darcy suddenly felt like her breathing was abnormally loud.

There was an eerie absence of birds in the forest. There were sounds of things in the distance, however; the crunching of branches like footsteps seemed to echo around them.

"This way," Loki said, quietly. "Try not to make an undue racket." He took off at once, striding ahead, weaving between the thick trees. It was dark enough now that they were off the path that she could only see his outline as he walked, catching his movement and tracking it. His dark clothes seemed to blend seamlessly into the bark of the trees around him, and only his pale skin gleamed uncannily when he occasionally turned back to look at her.

"Where –?" she tried to ask again. Loki cut her off with a harsh "shh!"

So, she kept pace as best she could behind him. The ground was covered in thick ferns that seemed to catch cloyingly on her pantlegs as she walked, like they were trying to grab hold. She tripped over them more than once, stumbling along behind Loki who seemed to glide effortlessly through them. She could hear the squelching of mud beneath her feet, and the air smelt thick and rotten, like decay.

When Loki finally came to a stop, she stumbled right into him. She had no way to tell precisely how long they'd been walking for, but her legs were starting to feel wobbly with fatigue and the air temperature had dropped sharply enough that she was shivering, despite the exertion.

Loki looked her over – or, at least she thought he did – before saying, "It's not much further. Look." He pointed out ahead of them, between the trees.

At first, Darcy couldn't see anything at all. She was in the process of deciding precisely which death threat she was going to issue Loki with, when she caught sight of light in the direction where Loki was pointing. There was a clearing, lit by a dim, but warm glow. It was only five or six yards out, but it was only barely visible through the gloom.

"You'll go first," Loki said.

"What?" Darcy squawked, turning towards him.

He gripped hold of her arm and gave her a shove in the direction of the clearing. "We cannot spend the night out here. Go."

"Why me?" Her feet were cold and wet from the mud and she could feel herself shivering. She didn't doubt for a second that Loki was right, and that spending the night outside would be dangerous, if not potentially fatal, but it would have been a considerable understatement to say that she was wary of the fact that was determined to send her first.

Loki made a sound of annoyance and said, "they'll take more to you than me."

"In a 'oh, you poor thing come in and have some dinner', or a 'oh, you poor thing come in and _be_ dinner' way?"

"Probably not the latter," Loki said, unreassuringly.

"_Probably_?"

Loki didn't give her time to say anything more than that. He stepped forward, and, with a firmer shove, sent her stumbling out into the clearing.

With an audible crack, the clearing was suddenly filled with a bright light, that sent Darcy staggering backwards, her hand thrown up to cover her eyes. There was an odd-looking cottage that seemed to be growing out of a tall tree that was standing in the middle of the glade. Standing between her and the cottage, was a grey-haired woman, nearly bent double with age and wielding a ladle like it was a mace. Before Darcy had time to process any of this, the woman brought the ladle down on Darcy's head hard enough that Darcy's vision spun.

She scuttled backwards, flinging her hands up over her head. The woman followed, surprisingly quick-footed for someone who looked like the personification of the word 'feeble'.

"Get away with you!" she shouted, bringing the ladle down on Darcy's forearms. "Go on! Get lost!"

"Ow!" was pretty much all Darcy could manage to get out between ladle blows.

The woman continued her tired unabated, however. "You think you can just stumble into my home? This is private property! Did you not read the sign?"

"No," Darcy said, ducking a particularly lethal ladle swing, which made a whistling sound in the air as it passed barely an inch from her ear. This was, without doubt, the most surreal 'get off my lawn' speech she'd ever received. "Sorry."

With a roar of fury, the old woman flung the ladle aside, and stretched out her hands. Darcy had only a split second to process what was happening – the woman's hands seemed to be turning orange, the air rippling around them as the heat distorted it. With a muffled curse, Darcy managed to fling herself aside just in time as the woman let loose a ball of flame. It scorched the earth where Darcy had just been standing, leaving a dark angry burn in the grass that smoked ominously.

Darcy took off running. She could feel the heat of the flames at her back as a second fireball came perilously close to her heels. There was a great roar of flame as a wall of fire seemed to start up behind her with a great whoosh, shooting high up into the air. She shrieked, stumbling forwards towards the trees, as the fire seemed to spin towards her, like it was animate. A great tendril of flame, like a fiery hand, stretched out towards her, and she could feel the heat burning the skin of her back.

Darcy ran, full tilt, back into the forest. The light from the fire behind her seemed to flicker out as she stepped back beneath the trees, dying down as if it had never been there at all. "Loki?" she called out again. There was no answer, but she heard the sharp crack of a branch ahead, and it made her jump.

Cautiously, she moved forward, groping from tree to tree. She was wary of going too far away from the glade and getting lost, but equally wary of going back _in_ the glade. Her hands were still smarting from the blows, her back felt as if it had been badly sunburnt, and she could feel bruises forming all up her arms. Her head throbbed painfully with each step, like she could feel her brain swelling and pressing up against the inside of her skull.

There was another, louder crack from somewhere closer. "Loki?" she said again, her voice oddly squeaky. It seemed to fall short, like it had been smothered by the thick, oppressive air of the forest.

She practically jumped out of her skin when she felt a hand grab hold of her shoulder. With a shriek she spun around, slapping it away from her.

Loki had the nerve to look affronted. "Cease panicking," he snapped. "I haven't the patience to deal with one of your ridiculous episodes right now."

She was going to punch him. She was going to literally punch him in the face. "My ridiculous _what_?" Darcy snapped, pressing her hand to her chest to try and calm her racing heart. She was leaning up against a tree, panting. "Knock it off or I'll –"

"What?" Loki said, sarcastically, throwing his hands wide. "What could you possibly do?"

"I've been inside your head," Darcy replied, straightening. "I'll make your life a living hell."

Loki stiffened and stepped forward, looking down his nose at her. "Try," he said, sneering.

"Every hot button issue you've got, I know about," Darcy replied. "So just _try_ it. Tell me more about how horrible it is to be stuck here with me. Because _you_ dragged _me_ here, Loki. I have been reasonable beyond the bounds of sanity where you're concerned, but there is a line. Now you tell me what is going on, and why you sent me in there to get pummelled to death with kitchen utensils, and maybe, just _maybe_ I'll consider not bring up your daddy issues every five minutes from now until we part ways."

Loki let out a muted roar, and brought his hands up like he was about to reach out and throttle her. He paused, seeming to stick halfway through the motion, his face contorted in an ugly snarl, cast in the deep shadow of the forest that made him look positively diabolical.

She could feel his magic rising, like hackles, and it prickled uncomfortably at her skin, like static electricity. She stood her ground, though all the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. She could smell it – like charged air before a lightning strike, and his skin began to glow a deep, ominous green.

"That would be tremendously unwise," he said, through gritted teeth. "I _also_ have a line, and it is just possible that I will overcome the irritating conscience you seem to have saddled me with if sufficiently provoked."

"Let's just hope it doesn't come to that, then," Darcy said, flatly. "Why did you send me in there? And where were you?"

Loki opened his mouth, and stared at her furiously for a very long moment, before snapping it back shut with a click. He stepped back. "I had to retrieve something."

She barely contained her sigh of relief, and her legs wobbled a bit as Loki backed off. The charged feeling in the air between them dissipated somewhat, but it left her feeling jittery and strung out. "What?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes. "I _told_ you. We cannot arrive without a gift. I have found one."

"Here?" Darcy asked incredulously, waving her arm to take in the dark, dank expanse of the forest around them. "Because I can pretty much guarantee it that no woman is going to like anything you've dug up from around here."

Loki's mouth made an odd motion, like he was trying to suppress a smile. "Nevertheless," he drawled. Then, in a sleight of hand so smooth that Darcy nearly missed it, he pulled a flower from his pocket and held it up for her inspection. It was bulbous, and a dark, deep purple, and it stank.

"You really shouldn't have," said Darcy drily.

"It has considerable magical properties, and it can only be harvested here," Loki replied blandly, tucking the flower away. "Hence why I required you as a distraction."

"A distraction – You used me as _bait_?" Something in her snapped at that. She could still feel the dull throbbing of her skin where the fire had come close to burning her. "I could have been _killed_."

"You did fine. It wasn't nearly as bad as all that," Loki said, waving a hand dismissively. "It was precisely what I needed."

"You could have _warned_ me. You said they'd probably invite me in!"

"I said they would probably not eat you for dinner," Loki replied. "I expect that was not at all her intention. Come. We should make camp. We cannot traverse the forest at night – we would run too great a risk of missing the path."

"So we're just going to stay _here_?"

Loki pursed his lips for a moment, considering, and then, begrudgingly, unbuckled his cloak and handed it to her. He studiously avoided eye-contact while doing so.

"Aren't you going to be cold?" she asked, tentatively.

"No," he said, flatly. "Go to sleep."

"Should we keep watch?"

"What we _should_ do," he snapped, "is be silent and _sleep_. I will keep watch. It is not a task you are suited for."

Darcy decided it would be wiser just to let that one drop, and attempted to find a patch of reasonably dry, reasonably solid ground to rest on. She wound up using a log as a makeshift bed. It was damp, and smelt horribly of rot, but it was better than lying down in the mud. She took a sort of grim, childish satisfaction in getting Loki's cape completely filthy as she wrapped herself up in it like a burrito and attempted to balance atop the log to sleep.

Her stomach rumbled loudly. She hadn't realised how absolutely starving she was until they'd actually stopped. Her stomach gnawed at her, and she curled up as best she could, trying to ignore it. After her stomach had grumbled loudly for the second time, Loki stood and pulled something from a pouch at his belt. He tossed it at her, and she fumbled to catch it in the darkness.

It was a small bun and a hunk of cheese wrapped in a napkin. "You had _food_?" she said, incredulously. She was going to _murder him_, she was going to actually rip his head from his body, she was going to sit on his head until he cried. Actually, what she was going to do was eat dinner.

It wasn't much, but it helped considerably. The bread was surprisingly filling, and the cheese was crumbly and sharp, but not at all unpalatable.

"Thanks," she mumbled, brushing the crumbs off her lap.

Loki simply stared, apparently vacantly, out into the forest.

She must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing Darcy was aware of was Loki shoving her abruptly off the log and into the muck. Before she could start swearing at him, however, he hissed "stay down."

He'd drawn two long knives and was crouched in what Darcy could only call 'battle stance'. Beyond him, between the trees, something was moving. All Darcy could tell was that it was big – very big. She could hear its footfalls, squelching and heavy on the soft forest floor. It let out a long, low growl that reverberated through Darcy's bones in a way that sent set off a primeval sense of complete and utter _terror_.

It was dark and shaggy, bear like, but it had a face like a dog and seemed sleeker than any bear she'd ever seen. Loki muttered something under his breath, and flung a sudden spark of green light straight into the beast's face. It howled, rising back on its hind legs and pawing at its eyes.

Loki shoved her backwards, hopping over the log she'd been using as a bed, but keeping himself firmly between her and the animal.

It was staring at them again, its jaw contorted in a snarl that bared long, yellowed teeth. It stepped forwards, crouching low on its forequarters like a cat stalking its prey.

There was a moment of stillness, and Darcy's panicked brain seemed to take in everything at once, stretching it out with an odd sort of hyper-clarity. She saw the glint of pale yellow in the animal's eyes fade as its pupils widened, its gaze focused on Loki. She saw Loki's arm go back as he prepared to throw his knife. It was a breath – a split second – where everything hung motionless.

And then it exploded. Loki flung his knife and it stuck in deep in the animal's shoulder with a meaty thud. It let out another howl of pain, and bounded forward towards Loki, grabbing his arm in its jaws and pressing him to the ground.

Darcy reacted without even thinking. She grabbed a piece of deadwood lying on the ground and raised it high above her head, bringing down over the animal's head with a loud 'thwack'. Without stopping to see if it had been stunned she kept whacking, madly, hitting it over and and over. It snarled, letting go of Loki's arm and swiped its paw at her, and she hit that too.

The stick cracked in two, and she jabbed it in the face with the broken end. It caught what was left of her stick in its mouth and wrenched it out of her hand, flinging it aside.

For a moment, time seemed to slow again, and she saw her own reflection in the eyes of the beast, and she heard the beating of her heart echoing like a drum in her ears. She thought – oddly – not of her family, or loved ones, but of freshman week at university when she'd been drunker than she'd ever been before on the roof of her dorms with people whose names she never learnt, and she had promised herself that she would do something _amazing_ with her life.

Then, with a sickening, metallic crunch, Loki shoved a dagger straight through the skull of the animal, and it dropped, lifeless to the ground.

An odd, anticlimactic hush fell. Then, without warning, Darcy's legs gave out beneath her and she dropped down to the ground.

"Are you injured?" Loki asked, sharply, hovering over her.

"No," Darcy said, shakily. "I just – I just need a moment."

There was blood dripping down Loki's arm where the animal had bitten him, and it hung limply by his side. Darcy felt bile rise in her throat. "Your arm," she said.

"It's fine." Loki crouched down near her, and carefully peeled his vambrace off.

"Do you have something we can use to make bandages?" Darcy asked, slowly gathering her wits back about her and trying to remember everything she'd learnt in first aid. So far all she was remembering was airway, breathing and circulation – but that was hardly helpful here.

Loki was busy pulling his sleeve back.

It was worse than she'd been anticipating – which was saying something. There was a long, ugly gash in his arm which was bleeding profusely, and a flap of skin which had been almost completely torn off hung lip and unnaturally from his forearm. The blood looked almost black in the dark.

"Oh _god_," Darcy said. "Put pressure on it." She reached forward intending to press down, but Loki batted her hands away. He raised his other hand, and it began to glow faintly. Gently and carefully he pressed each of the wounds closed, and Darcy watched in rapt disgust and fascination as his skin knit itself back together.

"That's handy," Darcy said after a moment.

"Hmm," Loki agreed. But he looked back at her, oddly appraisingly. He flexed the fingers in his hand experimentally, testing the new skin, before pulling his sleeve back up and replacing the torn vambrace. Then, he rose to his feet, brushing himself off. "It is nearly dawn. Perhaps we should begin the return journey?"

"Sounds like a blast," Darcy said.

To her surprise, however, Loki held out his hand to her. She grabbed it tentatively, and his fingers closed tightly around hers, pulling her to her feet.

"Thanks," she said, feeling suddenly awkward. She walked around the dead animal – whatever it was – giving it a very wide berth as she did, and picked up Loki's cloak from the mud it was lying in where she'd dropped it. She held it out to Loki apologetically, who wrinkled his nose feelingly and said, "keep it."

She contemplated it for a moment, before deciding she was already completely filthy, and it was thick enough to still be warm, despite the mud. She grimaced, but wrapped it around herself, and then set off after Loki, who was already picking his way through the ferns ahead of her.

As the adrenaline wore off, Darcy just began to feel utterly exhausted. She trudged behind Loki, stumbling often, as she tried to blearily pick her way through the underbrush. Loki, for all his unexpected civility earlier, said nothing to her, only occasionally checking back over his shoulder to ensure she was still following. But he did slow his pace, and stop a few times when she fell far enough behind.

At last, after what felt like a geological eon to Darcy, they emerged back out onto the 'road'. She wouldn't have noticed, save that Loki stopped and pointed it out. But it was much easier going on the path, and, though her feet were throbbing and her heel chafed with a brand new blister, they finally emerged out into the open.

"Finally," said Loki, clapping his hands together. He took a presumptuous step towards her, and wrapped Darcy in a bear hug.

"What –," Darcy said, flatly. Then, a moment too late, she realised what he was about to do.

The ground fell out beneath her feet, and they tumbled, squeezed and pulled simultaneously and pressed through the fabric of space time like it was sieve, before she slammed back to the ground with enough force to jar her bones.

"Fuck, stop _doing that_," Darcy said, shoving him back. "God fucking dammit."

"Oh, do cease your histrionics. I had assumed you might not wish to walk, given your current state."

"That doesn't mean I want to become a human tube of toothpaste either," Darcy said. "Ugh."

Loki scowled. "Stand up. You'll want to be on your feet when we meet Hulda. She has a very poor opinion of weakness."

"Hulda? The witch?" Darcy asked.

Loki's face took on an odd, pinched expression. "It would be inadvisable to call her that to her face," he said, diplomatically.

Darcy snorted. "Right, point taken."

Hulda lived in a cave. Loki seemed to know where he was going, which was a damn good thing because Darcy would never have found it otherwise. They came to a great mound. Loki walked around it for a moment, looking carefully at the ground and tapping it experimentally with his foot. Then, suddenly, he jumped down behind a rock and disappeared. The crack was deceptively small – once Darcy had slipped behind the boulder and levered herself down it widened up considerably.

She dropped to her feet next to Loki. There was an overhang that effectively hid the entrance from sight from above, but more than enough space for the two of them to walk abreast. A long tunnel stretched out before them, draped with low-hanging moss.

Loki pulled a torch from a bracket in the wall and lit it with a quick bit of magic. The flame glowed an unearthly green and cast a sickly pallor over the tunnel. Their footsteps echoed loudly, despite Darcy's best efforts to tread lightly. She kept a bit behind Loki, growing more and more nervous the further they went down the tunnel.

The air was growing stale and stagnant the deeper in they went. The tunnel seemed to just go on and on, descending slightly as it did so, seemingly without end. However, just as she was about to ask Loki if he was _sure_ someone actually lived down here, it began to widen out, and she saw a faint light coming from up ahead.

Loki quickened his pace, striding forward and looking for all the world like he thought he owned the place.

For the first time since they sceptre had been destroyed, Darcy could see magic. She expected that she might have been able to see it even without the hangover of Loki's tutelage. It crawled along the wall like vines and across the floor, giving the tunnel an odd preternatural glow. She could smell it, too, in the air – sharp, like lightning.

Loki paused for a moment, and looked at her seriously. "It would be advisable," he said, "if you did not speak to Hulda. Information in the wrong hands can be deadly."

Darcy gave him a long, level look. "Do you seriously think I'm that stupid?"

Loki looked taken aback. "Yes," he said, like it was obvious. Then, without waiting for her to reply, took off again towards the light. Darcy, as seemed to be quickly becoming a habit, simply followed along, grumbling in his wake.

The tunnel opened up into a hall, lit by a great fire in a pit in the centre which glowed blue and seemed to give off no smoke. It cast long, pale, flickering shadows throughout the space, and the walls were lined with vials, stacked haphazardly on rickety shelves that gleamed eerily in the low light. Some of them definitely looked like the sort of creepy jars of pig hearts and newt eyeballs that were always sitting in the back of old biology professors' offices.

There was no sign of Hulda.

"I greet you, Hulda," said Loki, in a stentorian voice that echoed throughout the hall. "And I come bearing a gift of great power." He took the flower from his pocket, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger and holding it out, bowing slightly.

From the far side of the room, Hulda emerged from the gloom. "Greetings, son of Odin – or have you now taken another name?"

She wasn't at all what Darcy had been expecting. She'd anticipated a crone, humpbacked and covered in warts. Instead, Hulda was young – or, at least, she looked it. She wasn't beautiful in the classical sense, her features were slightly too sharp and too angular. Her nose was long and slightly hooked, her lips unbecomingly thin, and her brows were thick and heavy. But her dark hair fell long and unbound over her back, and contrasted with the stark paleness of her skin.

Loki had stiffened at the unmistakable jibe at his parentage, but simply said genially, "Loki will do."

Hulda's thick dark brows rose in affected surprise. "You give your name freely."

"I have every wish to deal with you cordially. I have nothing to hide."

Hulda laughed scornfully. "Is your name not also Liesmith?" Then, she reached out and plucked the flower from Loki's hand, examining it closely. "You retrieved this from the forest?"

She cautiously traced her finger across one petal and rubbed it against her thumb, examining the residue closely. She looked up, examining Loki, then, slowly and deliberately, slid her gaze to Darcy, looking her over intently. "Curious," she said, then added matter of factly. "It is a suitable gift. Speak."

"You are familiar with the magic necessary to create a weapon that would allow an individual to control the mind of another?" he asked.

Hulda turned sharply, her skirts flaring out around her. "Is this what you would ask of me?"

"No," Loki replied. "It has already been done."

"By whom?" Hulda asked.

Loki made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "He is dead."

"By your hand?" asked Hulda, but even as she spoke she turned to look curiously at Darcy. Darcy settled for shuffling awkwardly and pressing her lips together in a pinched smile.

"No," Loki said, somewhat begrudgingly, his face taking on an unpleasant pinched expression. "I was... indisposed."

Hulda arched an eyebrow at that. "How unfortunate for you."

Loki's face, if possible, looked even more pinched than it had before. There was a small part of Darcy, the only bit of Darcy that was not wiggling in terrified apprehension, that was beginning to seriously enjoy this. "Nevertheless," Loki replied, "despite the destruction of the weapon and its creator, I find myself inconveniently subject to its aftereffects. I want them removed."

"You are bound, the two of you?" Hulda clarified.

Loki made a face like he'd just swallowed a lemon that was hard for Darcy to feel anything but completely insulted by. "Yes."

Hulda looked between the two of them contemplatively, then she let out a loud, barking guffaw. Darcy stared at her incredulously, glancing over at Loki to see him grinding his teeth in fury, and then back at Hulda. "This is quite the favour you ask, Loki," she said.

"Can you do it?" Loki ground out.

Hulda smiled wickedly. "Perhaps. But it will not be easy."

Loki gave an odd sort of shrug as if he'd fully expected that.

"Or cheap," Hulda added.

Darcy's heart skipped a beat. She was fairly sure Hulda wasn't talking about plain, old-fashioned money.

"I'm listening," Loki said, stepping forwards into the light.

Hulda walked in a wide circle around them, brushing her hands over the jars and urns that lined the wall, her face half-hidden in shadow. She stopped, pulling a pot off the shelf and lifting the lid. Then she took down a mortar and pestle, and walked both over to a table on the far side of the fire. She took a little of whatever was in the pot and began to grind it.

"I must first assess the nature of your bond," she said. "You permit this?"

"What exactly does –" Darcy began, but Loki cut her off with a sharp "yes." She scowled at him. "What does that involve?" she asked.

"I will set you into a trance state," said Hulda, "in which I can examine your minds."

"So, your solution to the problem of Loki having poked around too much in my brain, is to poke around in my brain yourself?" Darcy said.

Hulda froze and stared at her, her face taking on a pinched angry look that made her look hawk-like. Darcy had a sudden sympathy for what it might be like to be a fieldmouse in the sight of a hungry falcon.

"We are prepare to do what is necessary," said Loki, stepping forwards and half-blocking Darcy. He shot her a pointed warning glance over his shoulder.

Hulda put the pestle aside and took a pinch of the powder she'd ground between her thumb and forefinger. "Come nearer the fire," she said, authoritatively.

Loki didn't wait for her to react, and simply grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged her over to the fireside. Without warning, Hulda tossed the powder straight into the middle of the flames. They burned purple for a moment, releasing a great puff of smoke which was warm and cloyingly sweet. She recognized it – it smelt like the same substance Loki had used when he'd put her into the dream state.

Almost immediately she felt her limbs go lax. Her whole body felt heavy, oddly anchored to the ground, but her mind felt strangely disconnected from it, like she was floating up and out of herself. She saw Hulda come around and take her face in her hand, pinching Darcy's chin between her thumb and fingers and lifting her face to look into her eyes. She turned Darcy's head from side to side, staring intently, before letting her go and doing the same to Loki.

Hulda then stood between them, and Darcy felt the familiar tingle of someone else's mind entering her own. Hulda's mind was oddly distinct from Loki's. Her thoughts seemed less prickly somehow, and more linear, like the sharp edge of a single sword versus Loki's carefully aimed darts. Hulda's fingers against her thoughts were unwelcome in a way Loki's hadn't been. She had always retained some element of control when she'd dealt with Loki like this – but here, Hulda seemed to be mentally swatting her away, rustling through her mind impudently as if it were her own private property.

There was raw power in the touch of Hulda's consciousness that seemed to reverberate with sheer magical energy in a way that Loki's never had. Loki had always been so carefully compartmentalized and contained, but Hulda's mind felt like it was burning Darcy's where they touched. All raw magic and power. She understood now why Loki had been so carefully respectful. Hulda's power was like getting caught in an undertow.

She wasn't sure how long Hulda was in her mind for, but when she was finally released Darcy had a splitting headache. Loki didn't seem to be faring much better, she could see the pinched look around his eyes as he stepped back from the fire.

"The bond runs deep," Hulda said sonorously.

"Can you remove it?" Loki's voice was oddly raspy, and Darcy looked over at him, frowning.

"Perhaps. But I will require something in return."

Loki stood up straight, squaring his shoulders, and Darcy had a very, _very_ bad feeling she knew what was coming. "Name it," he said.

Hulda's eyes flashed in what looked like triumph and she grinned. "Bring me one of the lost Norn Stones, and I will release your bond."

Darcy heard Loki give a sharp intake of breath. "What's a Norn Stone?" she asked.

"The Norn Stones are artefacts of tremendous power, once part of the treasure chest of Odin," Loki replied, staring fixedly at Hulda. "But they were lost in the void long ago."

"I have heard," Hulda drawled, "that you have made several forays into the void since you left Asgard. Bring me the stone, or I do nothing to separate you from your... _pet_."

Darcy bit down on her tongue to keep from saying something liable to get her killed. "The void?" she asked, looking at Loki.

He turned, sneering. "You've been there before. The void is where Thanos resided."

Darcy felt her heart drop straight to her shoes. Loki seemed to be fiercely deliberating, his hands clenched at his side.

"No," said Darcy. "There has to be another way."

"I assure you there isn't," Hulda said, blandly. "Those are my terms."

"Then we'll figure something else out," Darcy said, addressing Loki. "I am not going back into that void."

Loki turned towards her, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. Then his face contorted in an ugly sneer, and he said, "If it will unbind me, then I will do as you have asked."

Hulda grinned widely, her teeth glinting in the blue firelight making her look lupine and dangerous. She held out her hand to Loki. "We have a deal, then?"

"Yes," said Loki, before Darcy could stop him, and he clasped her hand in his.

There was a ripple of magic that passed like an invisible wave through the room, and the flames shot up, flickering wildly. But Darcy couldn't help but notice that Loki looked grim and deathly pale, as if he were preparing for his own funeral. Then, wordlessly, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the hall, leaving Darcy no choice but hurry behind him.

She could feel Hulda's wide, self-satisfied grin behind her even as she fled the room.


End file.
